


A Close Encounter of the Angelic Kind

by inkandpaperhowl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, giftfic, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandpaperhowl/pseuds/inkandpaperhowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steph's hunt gets interrupted by some interesting characters, and she can't help feeling drawn to one of them, despite her better judgement...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Close Encounter of the Angelic Kind

**A/N:** My friend Steph and I wrote each other SPN fics for Christmas. Her only prompt for me was that she and Cas should have some kind of connection. I started writing and assumed it was only going to be a few brief pages with a quick romantic attraction that Cas shuts down. It got away from me, and it just kept going until it was fouteen pages, clearly set in season 4 with hints at the overarching plot of that season, and a mildly complicated episodic villain. I hope you guys like it as much as she did and as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks.

Disclaimer: I don't own the SPN characters--Kripke hurts them enough without my help. Steph graciously allowed me to portray her as the sassy badass she is. Oh, and I make a brief appearence. 

**A Close Encounter of the Angelic Kind**

Steph cursed under her breath as her phone rang, loudly shattering the silence she had been so carefully maintaining. She flipped her phone out of her pocket quickly, glancing at the caller-id and rolling her eyes before answering.

“This is a really, really bad time,” she said in lieu of a classic greeting.

“Wow. Normally people say hello,” Megan said, and Steph could practically hear the grin on her friend’s face.

“This is a really. Really. Bad. Time,” Steph repeated, shifting her weight so that she was better balanced on the ladder leading down the manhole into the sewers.

“Are you on a job?” Megan asked. “Are you in the middle of a job? Steph, are you _literally_ in the middle of a job? Why would you answer, you idiot?”

“The phone rang. I answered. Shut up,” she muttered. “What did you want?”

“I was going to ask you for back up, but you’re busy. No big, I’ll find someone else.”

“What’s your job?” Steph asked.

“Vamp nest up in Wisconsin. Might be more than I think there are. Hence the back up. It can wait if you really want in. They’re not going anywhere, and they fed just before I got here, so we’ve got about three days. And there’s this cute boy at the diner; I swear, I’m just a few meals away from a real audible connection.”

“Ha,” Steph responded. “I’m almost done here. I think. I could meet you in three days.”

“Excellent. Sounds planlike. Have fun finishing your job. Call me if you live.” The line went dead as Megan hung up.

“Ass,” Steph muttered, “hanging up on me.” She clicked her volume down to silent to avoid any other interruptions, and dropped the rest of the way down into the sewers.

She had not walked far when the tunnel began to show signs of the shape shifter she was hunting. Bits of wet, discarded skin littered the ground, and she grimaced at the sight, but kept moving. Her flashlight caught a gleam off a bit of metal, and she bent to examine it. A silver knife lay among the shifter’s cast offs, clearly dropped by another hunter. Steph furrowed her brow, trying to remember if she’d heard of any other hunters in the area. She picked up the knife to see if it had any indication of to whom it belonged. It was excellent craftsmanship; the blade was pure silver, designed to take out shifters and werewolves. She heard running footsteps ahead of her, and whirled, moving toward them. She picked up her pace, not wanting to lose the monster’s trail, until she was running flat out, her flashlight flickering past branching tunnels as she tried to keep track of which tunnels the shifter was heading down.

A dark shape barreled out of one of the side tunnels just in front of her, and she crashed into him, unable to stop. They went down in a flurry of curses, struggling to disentangle themselves from each other. Steph scrambled to her feet and pointed her knife and her flashlight down at the man who was still flat on his back, but pointing a gun up at her.

“Whoa,” he said, as the beam of her flashlight blinded him. “Okay, okay, calm down.”

“Oh, I’m calm, asshole,” Steph said. “And I got…” she trailed off, realizing that this man, with his leather jacket and short, brown hair, did not match the shifter’s current head of shaggy blond hair. “Damn,” she muttered. “Now, I’ve lost him.” However, she did not lower the knife.

“Shit,” the man said, glaring down the tunnel the way the shifter had run. He sighed and made to stand up before remembering the knife in his face.

“I’m not the shifter, okay?” he said angrily, swatting at the knife. “And that’s my knife you’ve got there.”

“You may not be the shifter,” Steph said, noting that his fingers did not burn where they had hit the silver blade, “but I’m not going to give this pretty thing up just because you say it’s yours.” She twirled the blade around and slid it into her belt. “You could be anyone.”

"I’m an FBI agent, and my partner dropped that knife yesterday. So can I please have it back?”

“No,” Steph said. “You weren’t in town yesterday, and you are so not FBI. So lie again, please.”

“Shit,” the man said again, sighing. “Fine. But we’re not going to find that bastard down here now, so we might as well head to the surface.” He made to pass her, but she blocked him. He sighed, slipped his gun into his belt and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “My name is Dean. Can we go now, please, Miss Hostile?”

“It’s Steph. After you.” She swept her hand out, gesturing for him to lead down the tunnel and up the nearest ladder. He raised an eyebrow. “Hell yes, I’ll be checking out your ass on the way up.” He snorted and rolled his eyes, but he also grinned and led the way out of the sewers.

.

The diner was cliché in every sense of the word. The waitress smiled and winked at Dean and sashayed away from their table, swinging her short-skirted hips invitingly. Steph rolled her eyes as Dean craned his neck to follow the waitress’ form all the way into the kitchen.

“What?” the other hunter asked, catching Steph’s look.

“Nothing,” she responded, sipping from her cherry Coke. Dean rolled his own eyes and poured something from a flask he kept in the inside pocket of his jacket into his coffee.

“So,” he said, taking a long drink. “You’re hunting this son of a bitch by yourself?”

“Yes,” Steph said. “I can handle one shifter.”

“I believe you,” Dean responded. “But a partner makes it easier.”

“No,” Steph shook her head. “Partner makes it harder. Shifters like to be the people hunting them. If you turn a corner and come face to face with yourself, no big deal. You shoot immediately. But if you’ve got a partner, you have to check. Could be the shifter, could not be. It makes everything more complicated.”

“Huh,” Dean made a face. “I never thought of it that way.”

“I hunt a lot of shifters,” Steph said with a smile. Her next sip of cherry Coke sprayed across the table as a man appeared next to her in the booth. He was average height, with dark hair, and piercing blue eyes. He wore a suit under a tan trench coat, but his blue tie was backwards. And he had appeared out of thin air next to her in the booth.

“Move over,” he said to her, his voice deeper than she had thought it would be, smooth and even. She slid toward the window to make more room for him and her eyes flicked to Dean, who was pinching the bridge of his nose with a look of utter exasperation.

“Cas,” he said, opening his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t call?” the trench-coated man—Cas?—asked, an adorable look of confusion cluttering his face. Steph shook herself.

“Dean?” she asked. “Explain?”

“Sorry,” he said, sitting back in the booth. “Cas, this is Steph. She’s a fellow hunter. Steph, this is Castiel. He’s—”

“An angel of the Lord,” Cas broke in, turning to look at her. “As in angel,” he continued, in a tone that said he had to do this a lot to convince people he was real, “soldier of Heaven, servant of God, wings—”

“Dude, you appeared out of thin air. I believe you,” she said waving him to a stop. He looked at her with mild surprise in his beautiful eyes, as if he was unused to people so readily believing in him. She smiled. “Why did you appear out of thin air _here,_ though? Not that I mind a rather fine-looking angel dropping out of heaven and landing almost in my lap.” Somewhere inside her, a small part of her was screaming at the bolder, sassy part of her to shut up because saying things like that only led to making a complete ass of yourself in front of an _angel of the lord._

“Dean called me,” the angel said, blushing slightly and turning back to the hunter across the table. “Or something tricked me into thinking Dean called me. Which is not an easy thing to do.”

“There’s a shifter in town,” Dean said, frowning. “But why would a shifter pretend to be me and call you?”

“A shifter?” Cas repeated. “Oh.” He stood up. “That explains it.”

“Does it?” Dean and Steph said simultaneously.

“Dean,” Cas said, looking around as if realizing something for the first time. “Where is Sam?”

“About that,” Dean began. But Cas was already stalking out the door. Dean swore, threw some money on the table and followed him out of the diner. Steph, despite her own better judgment, followed Dean. Her hunt was getting awfully crowded, but these people were intriguing enough for her to forgive them for their intrusion.

Outside the diner, Dean was shouting at nothing. Steph raised her eyebrows as Dean turned and caught sight of her, stopping mid-swear. He grinned sheepishly.

“I’m guessing he vanishes without explaining himself often?” Steph asked, shrugging her jacket on.

“Nearly every freaking time he stops by,” Dean muttered. “He’ll be back in a few minutes. Or a few hours. Or a few weeks. It depends.”

“Right, but assuming he has some interest in my shifter, he’ll be back sooner rather than later.”

“ _Your_ shifter?”

“You burst into _my_ hunt, remember? I was here first. Just saying.” Dean shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Just so long as you don’t kill my brother by accident, I don’t give a damn if you call dibs on Presto-Change-o. He’s all yours.” Dean grinned. “Unless I get to him first.”

“Hey!” Steph began, but was interrupted by the return of Cas.

“Back so soon?” Dean’s voice was surly and the sarcasm was just dripping off him. Castiel simply gave him a look and turned to Steph.

“You’ve been hunting this thing, right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, rather defensively.

“Good. Then you can tell me what it has been up to. How many it has killed. What shapes it likes.”

“I could,” Steph said cautiously. “Or I could keep my knowledge to myself and just go kill the damn thing instead of blathering on about it. Why do you need to know?”

“I need to know because you are dealing with a shape shifter that was clever enough to trick me into thinking Dean had called me. And that means it is powerful and you could be in danger. Also, I need to know why it wanted me.”

“Aw, you’re worried about me already?” Steph said, grinning. Castiel’s eyes narrowed.

“Why wouldn’t I be worried about you?”

“Because you’ve known me a grand total of five minutes?” she asked. He shook his head in confusion.

“Why does that matter?”

Steph sighed and tapped her foot. “Fine,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll tell you what I’ve got. Dean and his brother probably have the same research, but whatever. All my research is at the motel. You want to meet me there?” But Cas had already gone again. “Damn it!” Steph swore.

“Get used to it,” Dean said, heading for his car. Steph eyed the Impala; she didn’t really care much about old cars, but even she knew that the Impala was beautiful, as cars went. “Stop checking out my baby,” Dean called. “I’ll follow you to the motel?”

“Sounds good,” she replied, heading for her own car. About fifteen minutes worth of driving and they were across town, in the violently orange—and slightly sickening—motel room she had rented for the week. Dean grimaced at the incredibly ‘70s décor and the garish colors, but said nothing. He’d probably seen worse. Hell, she’d seen worse, and that was saying something. They’d been there long enough for Dean to poke through the mini-fridge and frown at the lack of beer there when Cas popped into existence again. He looked at Dean.

“Why do all of you hunters always find the most hideous places to stay?” he asked. Dean raised his eyebrows.

“You notice things like the interior design?”

“I do when they make my human vessel want to vomit,” Cas said. He glared at the walls and they—along with everything else in the room that was orange—turned a nice, soothing shade of blue.

“Thank you!” Steph sighed in relief. “Every time I walked in here, I got a massive headache just from the paint color.”

“What is this, Trading Spaces?” Dean asked.

“I don’t understand that reference,” Cas said. Dean smiled. Steph wondered how often they shared similar exchanges.

“Wish I could join in the witty repartee,” she said, bringing the boys’ attention to the table and the wall where her research was laid out, “but we’ve got work to do.” They came over to her and began to look over her work. A map of the neighborhood and a plan of the sewers were tacked to the wall, red sharpie marks indicating places where victims had lived and died, and likely paths the shifter had taken to reach all the places. The table was littered with newspaper articles, obituaries, and some stills from various security cameras, showing the shifter’s glowing eyes, as well as her notes taken from witness and family interviews. Her laptop was open, several tabs of the Internet open to several pages of refresher research on shifters and her video camera was plugged into the USB port, charging.

“The first couple of reports were rather innocent,” Steph began bringing the other two up to speed, “Some doppelgangers were spotted, but people waved it off as travelers or their minds playing tricks. Things got ugly when a nosy neighbor saw Mr. Next Door come home twice one night. Thought he was just tired, but the next morning, Mrs. Next Door leaves, trying her very best not to be seen, with a bag of bloody clothes in her hands, and when Peeping Tom trains his telescope on the marrieds’ bedroom, he sees two bodies and lots of blood.” Steph rifled through the mess on the table to pull out a stack of crime scene photos and handed them to Dean. He looked at her incredulously.

“ _You_ had these? Sam said the detective told him they didn’t give crime scene photos out to just anyone, even the FBI.”

“Ah, but the detective thinks _female_ FBI agents are cute,” Steph grinned. Dean shook his head.

“Awful lot of blood,” Dean said. “Definitely shifter knife work in there.” Steph nodded agreement.

“What did the police say to…Peeping Tom’s account?” Cas asked, pausing at the cliché nickname as if he thought it was the guy’s actual name. Steph shook her head, finding it unimportant to correct him.

“The two bodies were clearly Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. The police dismissed the neighbor’s story because a) he’s a creeper, and b) who believes in shifters? They assume the wife was having an affair, and the husband came home while the lover was over, and things got ugly. The lover walks away and goes to ground. They’re pretty close—the shifter came first, but the real husband came home early and interrupted, so the son of a bitch had to kill both of them.”

“Why would he take the wife’s form on the way out though?” Dean asked. “That makes zero sense.”

“Until you look at the next victim,” Steph said, digging up a picture of a tall, handsome man with shaggy, blond hair. “Just so happens that young, married brunettes—like Mrs. Thompson—are exactly Eliot Erlic’s type.” She tapped a paragraph in her notes from when she’d interviewed the husband of one of the three young brunettes Erlic had been having affairs with.

“And the shifter had to kill Erlic because…?” Dean left the question hanging.

“Because that’s the form it wanted the whole time.”

“Why would the shifter specifically want the form of one man?” Cas asked. “They are usually much more random than this. This is too much planning for a simple shifter.”

“Must be taking orders from something bigger,” Dean said. “That explains why it was clever enough to trick you—it wasn’t. But it got orders on how to be clever enough from something else.”

“Back to your question,” Steph said to Cas, “the shifter wanted to be Erlic so that it could kill off Erlic’s mistresses. He had four, if you include Mrs. Thompson. They are, regrettably, all deceased. But the pattern is what caught my attention.”

“Ours too,” Dean said. “Sam noticed the pattern in the obits, so we decided to check it out. Thought it might be up our alley.”

“Couldn’t have been just a normal, human, serial killer, no-oo,” Steph said, drawing out the last syllable. “Of course not. Had to be something supernatural.”

“And, of course, all the women lived in houses that connect to the sewers,” Dean said. He’d barely glanced at the map of the sewers, and Steph figured that he and his brother had worked that much out. Which explained why she’d run into him down there.

“Close enough,” Steph agreed. “One of them is a block off the line, but the others all live right near manhole exits. Shifters usually find damp, slimly places to hole up, and this bastard is no exception. There’s a center to this maze, though, and I think that’s where its actual lair is,” she finished, pointing out the red circle she’d drawn on the plan of the sewers. “Might find your brother there.”

“And the big boss man,” Dean said. “We should get going. Sam—”

“Is fine,” Castiel interrupted. “The shifter wouldn’t kill him without orders to do so. I see what it’s doing now. It killed the women to establish a pattern, to draw you here. It worked. The monsters all know hunters always check out killing patterns. Once he had you in town—”

“It kidnapped Sam, so it could draw you here,” Dean said. “But you said you thought I’d called you, not Sam. Wouldn’t it be pretending to be Sam, not me, since he’s the one it captured?”

"It is possible it dredged you up from Sam’s memories, and realized that you and I have a closer bond than Sam and me,” Cas said, a sheepish note creeping into his voice. “Not that I wouldn’t answer Sam’s call, but perhaps I would answer yours more readily.” Dean said nothing but kept his eyes on the table.

“But what does it want with you?” Steph asked Cas before the silence got awkward.

“I do not know,” the angel said, his piercing eyes meeting hers for a moment. Her stomach flipped. _Uh-oh_ , Steph thought. _Not good. You know better, Stephanie. Do not develop feelings for the angel of the lord you have known less than an hour. Don’t do it._ It was her turn to let the silence stretch while she looked anywhere but at Castiel. And because she was not looking at him, she did not see him looking everywhere except at her.

“So,” Dean said, taking his turn at breaking the awkward silence, “are we going to gank this son of a bitch or not?”

“Not tonight,” Steph said, glancing out the window. “It’s getting late, and I’d rather take on a shifter with a full night’s sleep behind me. Also, they’re slower at dawn, when they’ve been out all night.”

“But what if it kills again?” Dean asked.

“He knows we’re here,” Cas replied, sinking into the rickety chair next to the table. “I believe he will wait for us to come to him.” Cas glanced up at Dean suddenly, his eyes narrowing. “You are surprisingly unconcerned for Sam’s safety in all this. You seem much more focused on killing the monster than on rescuing your brother.”

“Sam can take care of himself,” Dean said, shrugging.

“Tied to a pipe in the sewers after getting knocked out and kidnapped by a shape-shifter?” Steph said skeptically. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s doing a great job of looking after himself.”

“You’re the one who wants to wait this hunt until morning,” Dean snapped.

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Cas said. Steph felt his hand on the hilt of the silver knife in her belt and shifted her weight closer to him to allow him easier access. He jumped slightly as her hip bumped into his hand and her stomach flipped again. _Stop it_ , she yelled at herself. The angel slid the knife out and lunged across the table at a stunned and confused Dean. He pressed the flat of the blade into the hunter’s neck and nothing happened.

“Huh,” Cas said. He stared from the knife to Dean’s unburned skin and back again.

“Okay,” Dean said, “Are we done?”

“No,” Cas said, a long, thin blade sliding out of his sleeve. He whipped the spike up and pressed it into the same place he’d held the knife, and this time, the skin sizzled. With a snarl, the shifter pretending to be Dean swatted the blade away. Before Steph could put a bullet or two in him, he bolted for the door. He slammed it behind him while Steph scrambled over the angel sprawled across the floor. She wrenched the door open, but other people were poking their heads out of their rooms, watching the running figure of the sifter with curiosity. She lowered her gun before anyone could see it, and swore before turning back inside.

Cas was slowly getting to his feet, shaking his head as if to clear it. She gripped his arm and helped him over to the chair.

“It got away,” she said when he looked at her, unasked question in his eyes. “I could hardly shoot it with the whole motel watching.” He nodded. She let out a long stream of curses that made Castiel’s eyes go wide, but he did not interrupt her. “How long was that thing him? Did I actually meet Dean, or was he that thing the whole time?”

“I’m not sure,” Cas said. “Did you test him with the knife?”

“He touched it himself,” Steph said. “Nothing happened.” Cas examined the knife, smelling it, tasting it. He sighed.

“It’s coated with a substance that renders the silver in it harmless. Funny. I thought the only beings with access to this compound were angels...” he trailed off, wincing. “Of course,” he murmured.

“What’s wrong?” Steph asked. “Cas?”

“Someone has been killing the angels in my garrison,” Cas explained, “and we’ve had no luck discovering who or what it is.”

“You can be killed?” Steph said, lowering herself onto the edge of the bed. Cas turned in his seat to face her.

“It’s difficult, but it can be done,” he said. “There are very few things that can kill an angel. We thought we had all the threats locked down and under control. But…I guess we missed one.” A flicker of fear raced across his face, almost too quickly for Steph to notice. He did a very good job of hiding it, of being strong and mysterious and aloof, but in that fraction of a moment, Steph realized that he was just another person scared of dying. Just like everyone else. She hesitantly reached out and took his hand in one of her own, giving it a squeeze for comfort. He didn’t let go as he continued to speak.

“Whatever is killing the angels must be the thing controlling the shape-shifter. It must be trying to lure me out, and knew the Winchesters were the way to do that.” He sighed again. Steph gave his hand a second squeeze. “And I should have realized that Dean was not Dean,” the angel finished. Steph raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” she said. “Please. Shifters are hard to detect. They make case studies out of people they impersonate, they practice, they take memories out of people’s heads. I mean, it once took me two days to realize that my partner wasn’t actually my partner.” She smiled wistfully, remembering how angry Megan had been when Steph had finally found her in the damp basement of a warehouse.

“His jokes were off,” Cas said, shaking his head. “I should have known.”

"No,” Steph said. “It’s not your fault. Besides, we’ll get them back, we’ll kill this guy, and everything will be fine.”

“Not everything. Angels are still dying.”

“Not if we find out what’s controlling this shifter,” Steph said firmly. She pulled his other hand into hers and met his eyes, which seemed to stare through her into her soul. “Everything will be fine.” Cas did not move for a long moment. Eventually, he sighed and slid his hands out of hers.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, standing and turning away from her. “It’s not what you think.” And he vanished into thin air. She sat for a moment in the gathering darkness, staring at the place he had stood. It was her turn to sigh as she flopped back onto the bed, part of her wanting to laugh at her stupidity, part of her wanting to cry.

.

The diner looked grimy in the morning light, and the perky waitress from the previous afternoon yawned as she poured Steph’s second cup of coffee.

“Where’s your friend?” she asked. Steph looked at her with mild contempt.

"Not here.” The girl pouted and turned away, disappearing into the kitchen as Cas appeared in the booth across from Steph.

“Hi,” she said, barely jumping. Maybe she was getting used to his sudden arrivals.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” she said with a slight smile. “How’d you know I was here?”

“I’m good at finding people,” Cas said. Steph rolled her eyes at the mysterious drama that oozed from him.

“Then you’ll be useful down in the sewers. I was all set to get lost down there today.” She finished her coffee quickly and picked up her video camera. “Let’s go.”

“Why the camera?” Cas asked as they made their way across the parking lot to Steph’s car.

“Shifter’s eyes glow funny on video,” she said. “Maybe this will help us tell fake Sam and Dean from real Sam and Dean.” Cas nodded and waited in silence as she rummaged through her trunk, throwing the useless knife into the back and pulling out an extra pack of silver bullets, which she threw into the small bag with her extra flashlight, extra batteries, salt rifle, extra rounds, regular gun, and iron poker.

“I’ll meet you down there,” Cas said.

“Don’t you think it would be better to stick—” he vanished. “Together,” she finished lamely. “Damn.” She made her way to the closest sewer entrance and dropped down into the darkness.

Cas was at the bottom of the ladder.

"Hey,” she said, turning to look between him and the ladder, “were you checking out my ass?” Cas looked at her in confusion, and she smiled. “Never mind.”

“This way,” he said, heading off.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Maybe I’ve got the map turned around in my brain, but isn’t the center that way?” She pointed in the other direction. Cas paused, looking back and forth between the two tunnels. He smiled.

“Yes, you’re right,” he said. He gestured for her to head out.

“After you, sir,” she said, handing him a flashlight. “This is not a moment to adhere to the ladies first rule.”

He stared at her for a moment, and then moved off down the tunnel, flashlight glinting in the gloom. She turned the video camera on, switched it to night vision, and followed him. She quietly pulled out her gun and clicked the safety off.

They moved deeper into the maze of sewers, mostly in silence, occasionally pointing out puddles or bumps to each other. At one point, she had to pocket the video camera to scramble over a pile of rubble where the ceiling of the tunnel had collapsed. Cas took her hand to help her over and did not let go for a long stretch after.

Finally, a reddish light appeared around the corner ahead. Cas switched off the flashlight and handed it back to her. They crept silently up to the corner, and Steph stuck her head around to see the shifter’s lair. It was a large open space where several tunnels all crossed each other. A small fire in the center of the space threw long shadows on the walls, but it was enough to see by. Two figures lay slumped at the base of two of the support beams holding the ceiling up. One, she recognized as Dean, his leather jacket thrown over him like a blanket, a dark bruise shadowing one side of his face. He was awake; he was twisting his wrists, clearly trying to reach up into his sleeve, but the ropes were tight and his struggling was useless. The other figure must be Sam—hugely tall, with brown hair, and several bruises of his own. He, too, was struggling to reach a concealed weapon, but was having much the same luck as Dean.

She saw no sign of the shifter.

She turned to look at Cas, who smiled again and nodded. She nodded in return and they swung around the corner into the room. Sam’s head snapped up, eyes suspicious but defiant as he shouted a warning to his brother.

“It’s back—Cas!?” his anger and fear visibly turned to relief as he recognized the angel in the scant light.

"Steph?” Dean asked, squinting.

“Oh, good, you do know who I am,” she said. “I was really worried that you’d been the shifter the whole time, from when I met you down here, on.”

“No,” Dean said as she knelt behind him, sawing at his bonds with her knife. “It got me after the diner. It was waiting in my car.” He said it bitterly, as if he couldn’t believe his own stupidity at getting caught.

“Well, never mind, it’s okay,” Steph said as he rubbed feeling back into his wrists. She handed him her second gun and smiled.

“Anyone want to let me out?” Sam said, “And explain what’s going on?”

“Cas?” Dean said, his brow wrinkling in puzzlement, clearly wondering why the angel had not freed Sam while Steph was freeing him. Steph turned, training her gun on him.

“Whoa,” Dean said, “now hold on.”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas said. “When did you figure it out?” he asked Steph.

“Oh, back at the bottom of the ladder down here,” she said.

“What?” Dean asked.

“He’s the shifter,” Steph said. “Isn’t it obvious.”

“No,” Sam said, still on the floor. Dean moved toward his brother, but fake Cas echoed his movement.

“You don’t want to move any closer to Sam, Dean,” the shifter said. “How could you possibly have figured it out?” It turned back to Steph.

“Dude, you _smiled_. Twice.” Dean snorted with contained laughter. “And you checked out my ass. And you didn’t let go of my hand. You screwed up so many times. Besides,” she finished, “Cas is good at finding people, and told me he’d meet me down here. Do you really think an angel of the lord would go traipsing all over these sewers if he could just zap in at the last minute and save the day?”

“Your opinion of me grows by leaps and bounds every minute.” The real Cas appeared behind the shifter, a look of grim satisfaction on his face. As the shifter turned in confusion, Castiel’s blade slid out of his sleeve and he backhanded the monster. It went flying across the room, landing with a shuddering crash against one of the support pillars. Steph didn’t even move as she shot the thing twice, once through each kneecap. It screamed in pain, and Steph shrugged.

“Sorry?” she said sarcastically. Cas stalked forward and grabbed the fake version of himself by the collar, slamming the shifter against the wall. Dean, who had untied Sam finally and was helping his brother to his feet, whistled.

“Okay, there’s something you don’t see every day.”

“An angel pinning himself to a wall one-handed?” Sam suggested.

“Cas with his tie on correctly,” Dean smirked, pointing. The shifter had, in fact, tied his tie so the front was visible. Cas glanced at his own, backwards tie, and smoothed it over; it flipped back immediately, and the angel shrugged. The shifter laughed.

“It doesn’t matter that I screwed up,” it said.

“Really?” Steph said, “Because you screwed up probably more than anyone has ever screwed up ever. Like seriously.”

"It doesn’t matter because my employer will just bring me back. I’m important. I can get you all in one place. I can gift wrap you for him.”

“I’m pretty sure you just failed more dramatically than most high school dropouts,” Steph said. “Not only are Cas, Dean, and Sam free, but we are also about to kill your ass because you were so bad at mimicking Cas. I don’t really think this grants you another chance on the employer’s radar. He can probably find some other shifter who can actually imitate people, you know. Speaking of, who is your employer?”

“I fooled you into thinking I was Dean, didn’t I?” the shifter glared at her, fingers uselessly trying to pry Castiel’s from his throat. “Did you even think I screwed up on purpose?”

“No,” said Dean. “Because your employer isn’t going to show himself. He wasn’t planning on doing the dirty work. That was your job. You were supposed to kill us and report back to him. And you’ll be dead in a bit, and he won’t care. Speaking of, who is he?”

“He will come because he wants to see your faces when he kills you. He wants to see the light leave your eyes.”

“Dude, that line only works for Voldemort, which neither you nor your employer are,” Steph said, stepping sideways to get a shot around Cas. “I could shoot your feet out,” she mused. “That might make you answer.”

“Doubt it,” Sam said, “Go for the hands. Hands are more important.”

Steph shifted her aim. “But feet are for walking. Can’t kill people if you can’t walk through the sewers to their houses in the middle of the night, pretending to be their lover.”

“But no hands means no knives,” Sam said. “No guns, no wires. I don’t think you can kill someone with your feet.”

“Well, if you kick them really hard in the head…” Steph said. Dean laughed. Cas had said nothing this whole time, but with Dean’s laughter echoing through the tunnels, he tightened his grip on the shifter’s throat, and dug his knee into one of the bullet holes in the monster’s legs.

“I am only going to ask this once,” he growled. “Who is killing the angels?” The shifter laughed.

“You’re going to kill me anyway. No reason for me to tell you.”

“No reason for you not to tell us,” Sam said. “We still have time before we kill you, after all. That can be quick and painless time. Or we can, you know, drag it out.” Dean tapped his knife against his leg and Sam stretched to his full height, his knuckles cracking. Steph sighed, and Cas met her eyes. They both knew the shifter wasn’t going to tell them anything, no matter how much pain the boys inflicted. Cas nodded, and Steph shot the thing in the head. Cas let it fall to the ground, while Sam and Dean stared, stunned.

“Okay,” Dean said. “I’m confused.”

“It wasn’t going to tell us anything,” Cas said. “Why waste time?” He looked down at the lifeless heap at his feet. “Guess we should clean up this mess.”

.

The diner was more crowded than it had ever been before, and their booth was no exception. The waitress looked like she was about to faint, and didn’t know which of the three attractive males she was supposed to be paying attention to most.

“Did that seem…really easy to you?” Steph asked as the waitress sauntered away, her hips swaying so much, Steph was surprised she didn’t fall over.

“ _That_ seems really easy to me,” Dean said, leering after her. Steph kicked him under the table. “Ow! What!?”

“It would probably have been a lot harder if you hadn’t been here,” Sam said. “Things usually are.”

“No, but I mean it took zero effort at all,” Steph said. “I shot the thing three times and that was it? After it killed, like, six people and  pretended to be half of my friends? That just seems…”

“Too simple,” Cas interjected. Neither of them were commenting on the fact that the booth was small and their legs were pressed together under the table. It gave Steph a warm, tingling feeling. “I presume that’s because the shifter was just an underling. Whatever was controlling it realized that it was doomed to fail and gave up on it, abandoning it at the crucial moment. I’m sure if the…big boss man?” Dean nodded, failing to hide a grin at Castiel’s attempt to use slang. “If the big boss man was still actively watching the proceedings, it would have been considerably more difficult.”

“So, we are no closer to discovering who was controlling it?” Sam asked. “Or why it kidnapped me first?”

“No,” Cas said dejectedly.

“But we’ll figure it out sooner rather than later,” Dean said, “That’s what we do.”

“Well, sadly, you’ll do so without me,” Steph said. “I need to head north. My friend needs back up in Wisconsin. Vamp nest.” Sam and Dean nodded understanding. Cas didn’t look at her.

“Have fun,” Dean said. “Behead a few suckers for me.”

“I’ll gladly behead a few for _me_ ,” Steph sassed back. They chuckled.

“When do you have to leave?” Cas asked.

“Soon,” Steph responded, picking at her French fries. “Meg called yesterday, and gave me three days to get up there. So I need to leave sometime today…” she trailed off. “Where are you guys headed?” she asked, looking up at Dean.

“Don’t know,” he said. “We’ll probably pick a direction, hit the road, and then Sam will find something in the general direction we’re headed.” Sam nodded.

“Well,” Steph said, grinning, “don’t pick north. Can’t have you guys ruining two of my hunts in a row.” They laughed again. “I should probably get going,” she said, pushing her food away, but making no move to stand.

“Thanks,” Dean said, “for…you know.”

“Saving your attractive ass?” she said, smiling.

“Aw, you noticed!” Dean smirked. Sam said his thanks as well. Steph turned to say good-bye to Cas only to feel him disappear from beside her. “He doesn’t really do farewells,” Dean said, catching her look. “Good luck.”

“You too,” she said, standing up and pulling her jacket on. She slid a card out of her pocket and handed it to Dean. “Call me if you live,” she said, smiling.

“Will do. Hold on,” he stopped her, scribbled something on a napkin and handed it to here. There were four numbers written there. Steph raised her eyebrows. “My cell, my other cell, my other, other cell, and Sam’s phone.”

“You really don’t want to lose touch with me do you?” she said, smiling.

“Nope. And I want you to know who’s calling for back up when we pop up on your caller-id.”

“You would be the ones calling for back up,” she said. “See you around?”

“Sooner than you think,” Dean winked. Steph left the diner before they could come up with another reason to keep talking.

She had not been on the road long when Cas appeared in the passenger seat, startling her so badly she nearly swerved into oncoming traffic.

“Whoa, bad timing, Cas,” she said.

“Sorry,” he said, “I forgot that you are not accustomed to my sudden appearances.” He paused, and Steph concentrated on lowering her heart rate back down to a normal level. “I’m not good at farewells,” he said finally.

“I noticed when you left rather unexpectedly at the diner.”

“I can’t be with you,” Cas said abruptly. Steph gave up on keeping her heart rate calm.

“What?” she said, stalling as she tried to come up with a response.

"I am an angel of the lord. We have…rules.”

"Cas, I never asked—I never meant—” Steph stopped. She had no idea what to say.

“I like you, Stephanie,” Cas said. “But it’s impossible.”

“I understand,” Steph said, trying to wrap her head around the way her full name sounded rolling off his tongue. “We can still…” she paused.

“If you ever need anything, just call me,” Cas said. “Anything.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, but she saw him vanish out of the corner of her eye. She sighed. Then she smiled. She would see him again, probably sooner than she thought she would. And in the meantime, she had quite the story to tell Megan. 


End file.
